into their eyes.
The witch Grysh was bathing. Water poured down upon her from out of nowhere, and vanished as it hit the floor. The sight of the water on its own would have been rather impressive, but adding the witch to the visual stew turned it into pure horror. She was not a pretty lady, and on this occasion was having a particularly bad face day. Her eyes were crossed, a sight made worse by the fact that they dangled from their sockets. Her skin looked like it was about eight sizes too large. She had more body hair than seemed appropriate for a woman of any age. Her breasts were in serious danger of tripping her.
She snapped her fingers, and the water vanished. “I've been expecting you,” she said. Her voice did not possess a musical lilt by any stretch of the imagination.
“You ... you have?” asked Randall.
“You're Gaggles and Boo-Boo, right?”
Sir William shook his head. “No, I am Sir William of Mosiman, and this is my squire, Randall. We wish to speak with you. If possible, we'd like to be out of here before Gaggles and Boo-Boo show up.”
“Speak, then,” snarled Grysh.
“Don't you want to get dressed first?” asked Sir William, hopefully.
The witch snapped her fingers. A small scarf appeared, which she draped over her shoulders. “Now, speak.”
“We need your help,” Sir William explained. “We were escorting Princess Janice to the Kingdom of Rainey, when there was kind of a ... slip-up.”
Randall lifted the bag and shook it, rattling its contents.
“She's all there,” said Sir William, “aside from maybe a little trail we left through the cemetery, but she's sort of ... uh...”
“Dead?” asked Grysh.
“Dead, yes, of course, but I think we can carry that adjective even further. She's, uh,
“Give me the sack,” said Grysh, reaching out. The sack was yanked from Randall's hand by an invisible presence, and flew toward her, ripping apart in the process and spilling out the princess in a cloud of soot. “I see your problem,” she said.
She crouched down and began poking through the remnants. Sir William and Randall exchanged uneasy glances. “Can you help her?” Randall asked.
“I think this counts as more than ‘very’ dead, don't you agree?”
Sir William and Randall nodded.
Grysh stroked the eight or nine hairs on her chin thoughtfully. She twirled one around her finger several times. “Let me call my slave. Demon Baby, you are needed!”
A young man walked around the corner. He grimaced momentarily at the sight of Grysh from the rear, but quickly regained his composure and kneeled as she turned around to face him.
“His name's Demon Baby?” asked Sir William.
Grysh nodded. “After thirty hours of labor, his mother was in a lousy mood.” She gestured to him. “Fetch my book-o-spells, volume three, second printing,” she ordered.
Demon Baby arose and left. Grysh looked at Sir William. “Tell me, knight, do you read much?”
“Define much.”
“Ever.”
“No.”
“I see. So, I take it you've never heard of the fabled Necklace of Power?”
Sir William shook his head. “Was it named by the same guy who called this the Forest of Death?”
“The Necklace of Power is an ancient relic,” said the witch. “I can return the dead to life, yes, but without this necklace, there's very little I can do for your princess, unless you don't mind returning her as a living pile of ashes.”
“That would be disappointing,” said Sir William.
Demon Baby returned, a large book tucked under his arm. He handed it to Grysh, and then took hold of her right arm with both hands and began twisting her skin back and forth, wringing out the excess water.
“Let's see,” said Grysh, thumbing through the pages. “Transforming your enemies into saliva ... twelve ways to magically extend your tongue by a good four feet ... starting Armageddon ... putting cream in pastries without leaving tell-tale holes ... here we go: raising the dead when there isn't much left of them.”
She glanced over the entry. “Oh, there are some definite problems here. In addition to the Necklace of Power, I'm going to need the breath of a sleeping maiden, the toenail of Jenstina the Ogre, and the legendary berserker Shreddriff himself.”
“But I don't know any more maidens,” Sir William protested.
Demon Baby began to wring out Grysh's right leg.
“Okay, the maiden's breath will turn up,” said Randall, “but Jenstina, Shreddriff, and the necklace ... where exactly would we find them?”
Grysh shrugged.
“You have no idea?” asked Randall.
“None. You're on your own. All I can tell is that the journey to locate them will be fraught with peril, just to keep it interesting.” She tapped Demon Baby on the shoulder, then pointed to the princess clump. “Sweep that up, and put her in the back room with the others.” Demon Baby nodded and went to get a broom.
“I'd rather not leave her here, if it's all right,” said Sir William.
“It's not.”
“I see. Well, I'd like to thank you for your help. You certainly aren't the foul crone we were expecting.”
Grysh's expression darkened. “Ah, but I am. You don't think I'm helping you for free, do you?”
“Please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please don't ask for the wooden leg,” begged Randall.
“Do you find me attractive?” asked Grysh.
Randall began to choke on the air in his mouth. “I hadn't really thought about it.”
“Did you know I can tie my breasts into a square knot?”
“That didn't come up in the description I was given.”
“I'm a real animal when I want to be.”
“With the fur to prove it,” mumbled Sir William.
Grysh gestured, and Sir William suddenly flew up into the air, smacked his head against the ceiling a few times (almost, but not quite, in the “Shave and a Haircut” rhythm), then dropped to his original spot.
“Sorry,” he said. “And ouch.”
The witch returned her attention to Randall. She licked her lips, then cracked her knuckles. Then she cracked the joints in her arm. Then her shoulders. Then her neck. Then the spot where her nose would have been if she had one. She bent her knees, but that came out more of a creak than a crack.
“I think we could enjoy each other's company,” she told Randall.
“That sounds ... interesting. Almost fascinating. But, you know, I'm just a lowly squire, and I don't think Sir William would approve.”
“Go for it,” said Sir William.
Randall's heart felt like it was trying to beat its way out of his chest and onto the floor. “I'm a woefully inexperienced kisser,” he said. “I'd probably miss your lips completely.”
“I don't have to look this way, you know,” Grysh said. She snapped her fingers, and instantly transformed into a tall, leggy, astoundingly attractive redhead.
Sir William cleared his throat. “I don't suppose there's any way I could tactfully put myself back into the equation after that fur comment?”
“I wouldn't think so, no.”
“Just checking.”
“So, Randall,” said Grysh. “Care to join me in my Chamber of Looooooooooove?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Good.” She looked over at Sir William. “Stay there.” She considered for a moment, then snapped her fingers.
